Circus Acts and Fancy Hats
by God'sgirlforever
Summary: Two girls with eerily similar features. One, a former circus act in hiding; waiting to bring down the people who have done her wrong. The other, a wanna-be musician in hiding; wanting to escape marriage to a not-so-nice guy. Find out what happens when circus acts meet fancy hats. Fair warning, will have character deaths in it. NO SLASH!
1. At the Beginning-Spot

_**I rewrote this whole thing because I didn't like the plot I had before. This is for MinnieG. Hope everyone likes it.**_

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My best friend is gone. Gone like yestaday. She died and she ain't comin' back. It makes me angry. She died ta save me. Oh, Ise am glad ta be alive 'nd all. But Ise don't know how ta live witout her. Me friends think Ise should write about it. 'Parrently it helps ya feel better. I don't rightly know 'bout that. But dey're makin' me write dis on pain of death.

Ise don't know where ta start. Dere's lots of things I could tells ya. Jack Kelly tells me ta start wit me favorite things. Da Walkin' Mouth says ta start at the beginning cause dat's where all good stories start.

Dis story starts on a ship. A great big ship dat sailed from Ireland to America. Eliza-dat's her name, Eliza-was sittin' at da bow wit her fadder. He was teachin' her how ta throw knives and such. Oh, dey weren't throwin' knives off da ship. But dey had found some stones and he was usin' dem to teach her. Da rest is, as dey say, history…

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"Now, it takes lots of focus. Can you do that, Liza?" Mr. Jameson was sitting at the bow of the ship teaching his daughter Eliza how to throw stones at distant targets. Of course, there were no real targets. But he was teaching her the basics, hoping that someday she could throw at real targets. Having been in the circus for much of his life, Davin Jameson was hoping to pass his love of performing onto his only child, his daughter Eliza.

Eliza nodded her auburn head and tuned out the rest of the ship. She focused on the distant horizon and gave her wrist a flick. The stone she held flew far into the distance and would have hit a target straight on had there been one. "How was that, Papa?"

He nodded. "Wonderful. Let's try again."

"Can I try?"

Father and daughter turned to see a young, dirty-blond haired boy standing behind them. He held a slingshot in one hand and a biscuit in the other. His grey-blue eyes seemed to plead with the pair. Eliza turned her green cat-like eyes on her papa and begged him. "Oh, please Papa? Please can we teach him too?"

"I won't be no trouble. I only would like ta learn how ta shoot straight." The boy took a bite of biscuit and kept talking. "I promise I ain't gonna be in nobody's way."

"Please, Papa? I want a friend my age. Please?"

"Well…" Davin considered for a long moment before agreeing. "Is it okay with your mother? I will not teach you a thing without permission."

"Mama don't care. She just say ta keep outta trouble."

"Good. You can sit next to me." Eliza scooted over and the boy sat down. "My name is Eliza Jane. What's yours?"

"Kieran."

"Only one name?" Eliza looked at him in surprise. "Didn't your ma and pa give you any other names?"

"Well, me family name is Conlon. I don't suppose me folks gave me any other."

"Why not?"

"Me ma was real busy with all us kids."

"What about your pa?"

"Oh, he left us when I was born. Walked right outta da house and we never saw him no more."

"You can share my pa if you want." Eliza looked so proud of herself for suggesting it that Kieran felt it would be rude to say no.

"Okay. That sounds good."

Davin Jameson smiled at his daughter and picked up another rock. "Okay, Kieran. This is what you do."

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"Oíche mhaith, leanbh daor," Mr. Jameson whispered to his daughter as he kissed her good night. It was their first night in New York and they had found temporary lodging at an inn near the harbor. He walked over and tucked in Kieran, whose mother had somehow managed to lose him in the crowd. Or that's what Kieran said. It was too crowded to find out otherwise. "Oíche mhaith, Kieran. Codladh go maith, páistí."

"Oíche mhaith," Kieran whispered back. As soon as they were alone, Kieran turned to Eliza and began whispering to her. "Today was an awful big 'venture."

"Yes. Papa says life is a road. A long, hard road, but it's a wonderful journey."

Kieran thought about that for a moment. "My ma is afraid of journeys. But I ain't. Know why?"

Eliza giggled slightly and shook her head. "No. Why?"

"Acause I'm standing at the beginning of a journey with you. That makes me feel brave inside."

"At the beginning with you." Eliza giggled again. "I like that. I don't wanna be anywhere else."

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_**Translations:**_

_**oíche mhaith-good night**_

_**leanbh daor-dear child**_

_**codladh go maith, páistí-sleep well, children**_


	2. Journey to the Past-Specs

_**Tif S-You have made my day! I was seriously getting sad because I though no one liked my story enough to review and then you did. Thank you so much! As a prize for reviewing first, I'm going to bake you a virtual cake, okay? Okay. I'm very excited to see where this goes and I'm glad you're going to come along for the ride. You are coming, right? Of course you are. Anyway, yes it is Irish they're speaking. Sorry, I kinda forgot to clarify that. You'll have to keep reading to find out if it's Spot but that's a very good guess and you're probably right. I was looking at Irish boy names because everyone uses the same one or two and I saw Kieran and thought it would be a fun name to use. (You know, I have an Irish relative named Kieran. I don't remember how we're related but it's very distantly and he's a singer. If you're ever in Ireland, look him up.)**_

_**Anyway, enough rambling. I don't own anything except my own characters and I own no lyrics in any chapter or anything else I may or may not have referenced. Now read on and enjoy!**_

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The past can be a funny thing. It can sneak up on you when you least expect it. One minute you're going about life and everything is fine. The next moment, you see an object or hear a sound and you're transported to the past. Every smell, every sound, is a memory of a person you didn't even know you had.

They say memories are what keep people alive. That it's a good thing to remember. I don't want to forget my sister. Oh, I know she's not dead or anything. But she's still gone, at least to me. And I'm scared to forget anything about her. I'm scared because if I forget, if I don't hold on to those memories, then she might really be gone for good, even if she's still alive. And that's why I always hold on tight to the memories I have of my sister…

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_Early March, 1898_

16-year-old Alexei Milkovich watched as his sister as she slid into her seat at the breakfast table. Their father frowned his disproval but said nothing. Taking hands, the family of four opened the table with prayers said in their native Russian language. As soon as that was done, Ivan Milkovich turned to his daughter and began to scold her.

"Tatiana, you know we start breakfast promptly at 8 o'clock on Sunday morning." Ivan accepted a bowl of fruit from his wife Viktoriya and turned back to his 14-year-old daughter. "You were late, as usual."

"I'm sorry, Papa." Tatiana ducked her head and put on her scolded puppy look. By nature Tatiana was not much of an actress. She was a tad to rebellious and headstrong for that, but she had mastered how to act like she was sorry well enough to avoid trouble with her parents. "It will not…"

"Not happen again. I know." Ivan sighed and shook his head. "You say that every day and yet you do not change. You do it again the next day and the next day."

"But Papa, I had an idea! A good one for a story." Tatiana looked up, her face brightening at the thought of writing. "Remember Alexei's birthday when I tried to make a cake and-"

"Tatiana, you know how I feel about your writing and music."

"I know but-"

"But nothing."

"But Papa-"

Ivan pushed his chair back and slammed a hand down on the table "But nothing, child! I will not have you entertaining foolish notions of being a writer or a musician!"

Tatiana wilted under her father's anger and glared at the fruit on her plate. Viktoriya put a hand on her husband's arm and he sat down with a sigh. The rest of breakfast was a rather silent affair and the siblings snuck away as soon as possible, rushing upstairs to their rooms.

"Tiana, forget about what Papa says," Alexei told his sister as they got ready for church. "Follow your heart. Life is full of choices."

"No one ever mentions fear," Tatiana promptly retorted. "Or how the world can seem so vast, 'specially when you ain't prepared for it." Alexei conceded the point and gave his sister a hug as he ran back downstairs. Tatiana leaned against her wall as she thought about what her brother said.

"Tatiana!" Mrs. Milkovich's voice floated up the stairs. "Hurry or we'll be late for church."

"People always say life is full of choices. No one ever mentions fear," Tatiana whispered to herself. Inspired, she quickly jotted it down on a piece of paper, planning on writing a poem with it after church. Still talking to herself, she ran down the stairs to her waiting family. She smiled at Alexei, knowing just how to defy her father and become a writer after all.


End file.
